Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
~DANNY~
The diner I had in mind is just a block or so away from the gym. Given that it’s a nice Saturday, Mac asks to walk.
“You were born to be a city girl,” I tease her when we’re sitting in a booth.
“Why would you say that?” she asks, eyeing me carefully.
“Because you sure do like to walk a lot. Was that what it was like in your college town?” I ask her.
She shakes her head. “No, but I always walk when I can. I’ve always liked it, I guess.”
I nod. “I can definitely see that.”
“You don’t like to walk?” she asks me.
“I drive when I can.”
“You’ve got that fancy car to drive.”
“It’s not that fancy,” I defend. Of course she’s going to call it fancy; most people do. But most people don’t worry that it can cost less than some of the fancier cars out there. But nonetheless, I let it go.
She shrugs and goes back to browsing the menu.
I don’t need to. I’ve been here so many times before, so I spend my time looking at the woman who is sitting in front of me.
Mac has her hair in a braid. I’ve noticed it’s her signature hairstyle when she’s playing soccer or working out.
It’s the way she wore it at the bar too.
While the other girls made themselves up, Mac didn’t. She kept it simple.
She’s changed into a white shirt and yellow sweat shorts.
It’s a fitting color for her. She’s like the sunshine, and yellow radiates that.
I wonder, though, how much more comfortable those sweat shorts are going to be in the coming months.
It gets hot and humid here and sweat material is too hot to wear.
“Aren’t you going to look?” she asks me.
“Nah, I know what I’m getting. I come here to write a lot.”
“The paper doesn’t give you a desk?”
I smile. I like her teasing side. I like that she keeps me on my toes with our playful banter. “They do, but sometimes it’s better to write here. A change of scenery is good for me.”
“Is this where you wrote that hack piece on me?”
I shake my head. “No, I was at home when I wrote that. At the home office,” I tell her.
“I see. I didn’t notice an office at your place.” Her voice has quieted.
“You didn’t ask for a tour, so you wouldn’t have,” I remind her.
“You seemed to have another agenda.” Her cheeks flush rosy.
I like it when she blushes. I like that I get this kind of reaction out of her. It’s cute. Makes me think there’s more than just me interviewing her and screwing her into oblivion just because I didn’t like that some guy was trying to pick her up at the bar.
“I did that night. I had other plans for you. You can come back, and I’d be happy to give you a tour.” I wonder if I looked under the table if I would see her thighs clenching together. Her pupils have dilated and she’s biting her lip. “I’d like to be the one biting that lip.”
“Uh.” I have her at a loss for words, which is not how I’m used to her. Usually, she has a witty come back for everything.
“What’s the matter, Mac? Cat got your tongue?”
She doesn’t have to answer me, because a waitress comes over to take our order and, of course, it’s one I know.
“Well, hello there, Mr. Taylor,” she says. “What are you doing here? I thought you only came to see me during the week.”
“Hi, Sal. You know, I was thinking I don’t get in here enough and a Saturday lunch date with my favorite girl was in order.” I wink in Sal’s direction, but she calls me on my bullshit.
“Are you talking about the woman in front of you or am I your favorite?” She grins. “I can never tell with you, Danny.”
I steal a glance at Mac and she’s laughing. But she definitely looks uneasy, shifting in her seat and eyes searching Sal like she’ll give her the answers she’s searching for.
“I’m talking about you. There isn’t any reason why this one over here would be happy to be seen with me in public,” I tell her.
Sal laughs. “Why is that?”
“Because I’m here to interview her. She’s with the Tampa Bay Blaze,” I explain.
“Wow, so you’re a professional soccer player?” she asks Mac.
“I am,” she replies. She keeps her response simple.
She’s humble like that, and it’s one of the things I plan on including in the article.
The woman never lets her ego get in the way.
She plays the game and tries to be good.
Tries to make the team better. But little does she know; she does a hell of a lot more than that. I’m writing about that too.
“Well, good for you, my dear. What can I get you guys to eat?” Sal asks, getting back to business.
“I’d like an egg white omelet, please. Wheat toast and no meat,” she tells Sal and then takes a sip of her water.
“I would like the club sandwich and fries, please. All the fries,” I say, looking over at Mac with a smirk. “You don’t get a cheat day?” I ask her when Sal leaves us.
Mac smiles at me, leaning back in the booth. “Yeah, I get a cheat day, but I’m not sure I’m going to use it today.”
“I remember those days. Having a cheat day and splurging on something really good.”
“What was your favorite cheat day meal?” she asks me.
“Easy—a burger and fries. Sometimes, if I had some extra calories in the plan, I’d add a strawberry shake to it.”
“Ah, that sounds good. I would love to have that, but right now, I think I’m safer with the egg white omelet.” She shrugs.
I nod. “Yeah, well, we can always go for ice cream when we’re done here.”
“Ice cream? Aren’t you going to be full after your club sandwich and all the fries?” She laughs.
“No, not necessarily. I might be able to fit in some ice cream. It’s like drinking a milkshake or something,” I say, winking at her. “What’s your favorite cheat day meal?”
She sighs and her blue eyes track up at the ceiling like she’s thinking the question over.
It’s a tough decision. When you’re an athlete, you don’t always get to eat all the decadent things you would like to.
Because food is fuel, and you can’t be swimming or running while a sub or burger is sitting in your stomach.
“I would say pizza. I love a good pizza.”
“Please don’t tell me you’re a cheese pizza girl.”
Shaking her head adamantly, she says, “No, sir. I’m a sausage, black olives, and green pepper kinda girl.”
“I love it. That sounds like a really good pizza.”
“It is.”
“Do you have a favorite pizza place in Tampa? You can’t tell me you just go with a chain. Pizza is serious business.”
“I think Marcella’s over by my place is pretty good.”
“And let me guess, you walk there?” I tease her again, and she sticks her tongue out at me in return.
“I might. But what can I say? Maybe I’m supposed to be a city girl.” She shrugs it off, then her eyes light up big and wide when she sees Sal coming with her food. “Finally, I am so hungry.”
We dig into our food, both enjoying what we ordered. I don’t miss the way she moans low when she bites into her eggs.
“Good?” I ask her.
“Yes, this was a good choice,” she admits.
“See, better than your Tropical Smoothie option.” I pick up my club sandwich and take a bite.
We eat in silence for a few moments before she asks me, “When are you going to start asking me questions? I thought that was why you asked me to come here.”
“It is. I just thought I would talk with you and get some information for the story that way. For example, your cheat day meal is going in there.” I smile warmly at her. “But I’ll probably leave out the pizza place. We don’t want any trouble with any rival places.”
She laughs and shakes her head.
“Would you like to come to my house after this? We can have a picnic out by the pool later. Maybe see if you can go without a bikini in my backyard.”
“Uh, that’s an idea,” she replies, shifting uneasily in the booth.
“What?” I can tell there’s something on the tip of her tongue by the way she opens and closes her mouth, but the words never leave her lips. “Just tell me what you wanna say.”
“Are you going to interview me while I’m naked, or are you saving that for the pizza picnic?”
“I think we can knock out some of those questions here and then head on back to my place for pizza and swimming.” I take a bite of my sandwich, taking my time chewing it while she processes what I just said.
“What if someone sees us?”
“Back at my place? I don’t think anyone from the team knows where I live, so we should be safe.”
“Yeah, but they know I was with you today for the interview. If I don’t come home, they’re going to think something is going on with you and me.”
“Ah, yeah, and we wouldn’t want that,” I agree. “I guess I better get back to asking you some questions.”
She nods and keeps watching me intently. “Do you ever miss being a swimmer? Having all the scheduled practices, meets, and all that?”
“What makes you ask me that?” I take a fry.
“Just the way you and Lucas were talking today. You really seemed to enjoy talking to him about all that stuff.” She shrugs and goes back to eating.
“I did. I enjoyed it a lot. Lucas is a good guy.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I nod. “I know, but it’s easier to focus on that instead of talking about what I’m not doing anymore.”
“Is it hard to interview me?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not just showing up at the games, but now you’re hanging out at all the events, the trainings. Do you miss it?”
“I said I did.” There’s a bit of an edge to my voice.
“Sorry. I just didn’t know if that was why you didn't appear to actually ask me any questions. You just seem to steer the conversation to more personal things when we’re together.
It makes me wonder if you can write this article or if we should tell Cromwell that I’m not cooperating with you, and everyone can go about their day. ”
I shake my head. “I might not be asking you any questions, but I am gathering information for the article. It’s not a process the way you may imagine it to be. It’s not always about talking to you about your likes, dislikes, and all that.”
“So, you’d rather sit here and talk about the next time you’ll get me naked?”
I wish there was a smile or something in her eyes, but she looks pissed off at the world.
I hate that. This isn’t going the way I wish it would.
Truth be told, I probably should get rid of the article.
Hand it off to someone else so they can do it right.
I would rather spend my time getting her naked and asking her questions that matter to her, not the article.
“Okay, I’m sorry. Let’s talk about the article. We can do that,” I tell her, trying to steer this lunch back on track.
“Okay” is all she says.
“How do you feel things are going in Tampa? How are you liking it? Do you think it was a good move from Portland?”
“Uh,” she stammers. “I think I like the naked questions better.”
She laughs along with me, and it seems like whatever bit of armor that may have been working its way in place has slipped off.
“You are so easy to talk to. You know that, right?”
“Really?” I ask her. I’m confused by her statement. “I thought all we did was bicker.”
“We definitely do our fair share of that. But it’s nice to talk to you. Even though it may just be for the article, or even when it’s not, you’re listening to me.”
“I am.”
“I know.”
“So, was there someone special you left behind in Portland?” I hate the question, but I want to know.
I know she doesn’t have a boyfriend now, but did she?
Is there going to be someone showing up at her doorstep and saying how stupid they were to let her go?
Because, damn, I feel like they would have been an absolute idiot to do that.
“No, no one special. I dated a few guys here and there while I was in college. No one serious, though. I was married to the game. It was more important for me to stay involved with soccer than with some guy.”
“Do you still feel married to the game?” I’m asking more for myself than anything else. And I really don’t know how I will sit here if she still says she is married to the game.
She smirks at me. “I feel a tremendous amount of pressure being here in Tampa. A new team in a state that already has an NWSL team—it’s not an easy feat.
The people of Tampa don’t necessarily want us here.
They have the Orlando Pride. So, I need to make sure I do my job and make it all go well. I can’t fail.”
“You mean we can’t fail,” I say to her. “It’s a team sport, and it takes all eleven of you out there on the field to make it work.” I reach across the table and rub a fingertip over her hand where it rests on the table.
“Did you take the article because it was assigned to you or was it because of me?”
“Yes” is all I reply.
Mac rolls her eyes at me. “I knew I wouldn’t get a straight answer.”
“Hate to break it to you, baby, but I’m not the one who needs to answer the questions.”